


Still Here

by MiniMax



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, M/M, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMax/pseuds/MiniMax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Chorus has taught Katie, is that when the worst happens, it <em>can</em> and always <em>will</em> become shittier. This truth has never stopped her from wishing that wasn't the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Here

“ _KATIE!_ ”

She’s only heard Falguni sound like that when either a serve failed to clear the net, or when a squad mate took a hit in front of her on mission. The results of that tone of voice are always loud, always messy, and always end in tears. It also has never failed to bring Katie slamming to her feet, tense and bracing for the fallout, which she does now, grateful that she’s kept her armor on for whatever fight is headed her way.

Falguni whips around the back corner of the mess hall into the alcove between the kitchens and the pantries where Katie had been hiding. She is flushed and panting, stripped of her armor from the waist up, kevlar unzipped halfway down her chest.

“I-what?” Katie stutters, trying and failing to not be taken in by the way Falguni’s braid is unwinding over her shoulder. She had tucked herself away in this corner to take a break from gathering the dog tags of her friends. It should have occurred to her sooner that the best way for her to distract herself was _with_ Falguni. Except there was this tone of voice and it was causing the hair to rise up along her forearms unpleasantly.

“You have to come! He’s losing his shit right now!” Falguni is already turning away, gesturing frantically.

Katie is on her heels, words falling from her mouth. “Who is? What did Palomo-?”

“No, fuck, just-” Falguni’s lips are twisted up and Katie sees that the words are running away from her, knows that Falguni struggles sometimes with what’s in her head reaching her mouth. “The _Captain_. Katie, he’s-”

“What?! He didn’t make it?” The world tilts sharply to the left; she knew the odds, knew it wasn’t good, but had hoped, hoped, _hoped_ -

“He’s alive. Captain Simmons is alive.”

The world rights itself, her chest loosens and her breath returns. “Oh! Well that’s good-”

“Grey sent word. Everyone’s been trying to find you; they need you there when the transport lands.”

“I don’t, but, _why?_ ” Katie huffs as they turn a corner, fast encroaching on the makeshift landing field. She catches the blue accents of Andersmith darting ahead of them.

“That her?” he yells, catching sight of Falguni who is running several steps ahead.

“Yeah,” Falguni hollers back. Andersmith nods and pelts off, screaming for people to clear the area, prep the surgery, and was there anyone around with a god damned medical degree?

“I’m not a doctor!” Katie protests over the stitch in her side. “Just because I can put cars together doesn’t mean I can put-”

“No, Katie,” Falguni looks back, anguish in her eyes, and slams to a stop. “Love, no, it’s Captain _Grif._ ”

Katie almost bowls her over. “What?”

“Captain Grif.”

There’s silence pinging in her head.

“He didn’t make it off the ship.”

Oh.

“Grey called ahead, because Captain Simmons-”

_Oh._

“-he’s _lost_ his fucking mind. No one can reason with him, and the only person he responds to that’s not already on that fucking ship is _you._ ”

Katie is glad her helmet is on, hiding the waterworks already burning behind her eyes, though from the look Falguni is giving her, it probably doesn’t take much to guess. 

“Katie, I have no idea what you’re about to walk into, but it’s going to be a mess,” Falguni says lowly. “It’s gonna be the _biggest_ mess. I wasn’t joking when I said he needed a sister, I just didn’t think it would be so soon or in this way and, well, you’re going to be the _best_ one he could ever hope for.” Falguni pulls her into a tight embrace which had to be uncomfortable, all armor plates against soft clothes. Katie’s mind is whirring faster. “I’ll be here for you when it’s over, Katie, I swear it.”

The sound of engines grows. The ship is in sight and landing fast. Falguni lets her go, pushes her forward.

“He’s gonna need you.”

Katie takes off. Everyone she’d seen running about the landing area has pulled to the side, has pulled up quiet, has pulled up still. She stays in the center of the landing field, staring straight up, ignoring the warning blast from the ship. She holds her ground and the ship lands feet from her. People step up closer, and they’ve got stretchers and bandages and oh man, oh shit, oh-

The belly of the ship opens.

Oh, _fuck_ , is it bad.

Captain Caboose practically explodes from the confines, and for a moment he’s all that fills her vision. He’s yelling and hopping around and _yelling_ -Agent Carolina comes up behind him, _fast_ , and puts him in a sleeper hold. They’re screaming back and forth, but the words don’t reach her ears; she watches long enough to see Captain Caboose begin nodding, Agent Carolina guiding him to the ground. She sees bone protruding from his thigh and quickly shifts her attention back to the ship.

Captain Tucker is laid out in the back. She thinks it’s Captain Tucker; his armor is different, but Agent Washington is leaning over him so it must be. Dr. Grey is on her feet, shouting out at people on the ground. They are swarming forward and there’s a flurry of activity, stretchers being laid down, bodies lifted, bandages hastily applied.

There’s three people holding him back, but it’s abundantly clear: Captain Simmons has indeed lost his fucking mind. He’s thrashing, fighting against the Colonel, Private Donut and Private Lopez. For a moment it seems that they’ve got him, pinned down to the bay seats, Katie sees them relax a fraction, sees Captain Simmons wait for it, sees him bolt away. 

He comes barreling past her, yelling inarticulately at the two soldiers carrying off the body of Captain Grif. It’s got to be the inhuman sounds ripping from his throat that cause them to startle and drop the stretcher. Captain Simmons is over the body in a second, throwing the sheet back and popping the seals of the helmet. He pulls it from Captain Grif’s head carefully, but the second it clears, Captain Simmons chucks it viciously to the side.

“Simmons! Get ahold of yourself, soldier!”

“Doc, _knock him out!_ ”

“I’ve _tried!_ There’s no way he should still be moving with the amount of sedatives in his bloodstream.”

“It’s his bio-mechanical parts,” Katie hears herself say. She approaches him slowly and kneels on the other side of Captain Grif. He pays her no mind, focused as he is on running his hands over Captain Grif’s face, hair, throat. “The sedatives have the opposite effect on the nanomites in his bloodstream. You may as well have pumped him full of adrenaline.”

“Oh how _fascinating!_ I’ll have to study-”

“Now is not the _time_ , Missy!”

“What the fuck is he _doing?_ ”

Captain Simmons has stripped his hands of his gloves and begun pulling at Captain Grif’s armor. His motions are jerky and clumsy, but he manages to loosen the clasps of the chest plate which he shoves unknowingly into Katie’s lap. She dumps it to the side and by the time she looks back, he has unsealed Captain Grif’s kevlar and pulled it down, revealing a myriad of bruising and old raised scars marking the convergence of pale freckled shoulder to bronze chest. Captain Simmons presses his head down to the newly exposed skin muttering frantically all the while.

“What the _fuck_ , Grif. Get up, what the _fuck_ \- Come on fatass, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go! If anyone was gonna go it would be _me. What the fuck Dex-_ ”

Katie wants to run, because, _shit_ , this is _private._ This isn’t for _anyone_ to see, this isn’t for _anyone_ to hear. Katie wants to scream at everyone to back off, to go away, to leave them alone. Her Captain needs space, her Captain needs time, her Captain, her _brother-_

She’s never had a brother, and knows now that she never wants one, and is so god damned glad his helmet is still on, because she does not want to see what this face looks like, never mind on the face of family.

Her Captain is reaching down, and pulls a knife from Captain Grif’s greaves. Noise rushes to a fever pitch in her head, static exploding pure white between her ears, and she feels lightheaded and-

_“JESUS FUCK-”_

_“DETENTE!”_

_“God damn it! SON, NO-”_

“ _Simmons_ , put the _fucking_ knife down!”

Katie only has eyes for the blood sluggishly rising from the slashes laced into Captain Grif’s old scars, only has ears for the strangled sounds of anguish, for the flood of words, for-

_“Please. You can’t, you can’t, don’t, you can’t take me with you, you can’t, Dex, you can’t take me with you, WHY DIDN’T YOU?! You CAN’T-”_

She lunges across Captain Grif’s body, shrieking, “ _Captain Simmons!_ ”, and wraps her hands over his shaking, slashing fist. He startles back from her touch, an angry snarling noise seeping from his helmet, and swings. He clocks her, _hard_ , across her left temple, and it’s his cybernetic arm, and it’s the hilt of the knife, and it’s her shitty, scavenged, helmet. The seals pop and it goes flying, along with a good chunk of her hair. She blinks against the sudden spinning lights in her vision and focuses her gaze on that angry visor. It takes longer than it usually for her eyes to focus, and she sees the Privates moving in fast behind him. This time, she’s the one making inarticulate noises and they stop.

Everything stops.

He’s breathing hard and violent tremors visibly ripple over his body.

“Why? _Dex_ , why did-” he cuts himself off. “Jensen? What happened to your face?”

She blinks the blood from her eyes. “Captain Simmons?”

His head begins to tilt down, and she lunges again, tucking her hands under the edges of his helmet, forcing his gaze to remain on her. 

“No,” she whispers, and her voice is slurred. “Don’t. Don’t keep looking at him like that. He’s not here anymore, he’s not _here._ ” The words feel clumsy and stupid but he’s stopped moving so she counts it as progress.

“Where?”

“Come on,” she says, clamoring to her feet, dragging him up. She watches the knife fall to the ground, feels the collective exhale in the landing field and drops her hands to his, tugging him along. Katie sees the Colonel moving in but when she shakes her head at him, he stops and lets them go. “I know where we can find him.”

Captain Simmons follows and people move out of their way quickly. Katie’s barely paying attention as sound rises back up around them, Dr. Grey’s voice sounding over the renewed hubbub. She doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know what she’s going to do with the Captain, but she has to do _something,_ she can’t let him descend back into that madness but already she can feel the tremors in his arm, can hear him start to make those wretched kicked puppy whimpers.

Movement has her looking to see Bitters ahead. His helmet is off and he is more grim faced than she’s ever seen him. He motions for her to follow, and before she’s ready to deal, Bitters is kicking open a door at the far side of the north barracks. Captain Simmons pulls out of her grasp and stumbles straight into the room. Katie looks to Bitters and for a moment his gaze mirrors hers; scared and helpless. He turns away fast. 

Katie takes a moment to gather her nerve. Steps in. Closes the door.

They’re in Captain Grif’s quarters and it’s about as messy as she would have expected had she given the matter any previous thought. From the way Captain Simmons has made his way directly to the third drawer of the left dresser, it is also clear that he is more familiar with Captain Grif’s quarters than she expected. Katie is distracted by the thought; it seemed the subtle and not-so-subtle nudging she and Falguni had been giving the two men had been to great success. 

_I wonder,_ she muses, _if it’s my fault he’s losing his mind._

“Jensen?”

“Katie,” she reminds him softy. He’s abandoned his helmet to the floor and is struggling to strip his armor; a bleeding wound across his back is slowing him down. Katie rushes to his side to help, setting each piece down with care, and eases the kevlar under suit open to the waist. The pulsing red lights of his cybernetic arm hurt her eyes in the dim room. Once free, he throws himself down on the bed. It crunches in protest and he pulls a bag of Oreos from under his leg. 

“What a fucking slob,” he mutters, shoving one in his mouth. “I don’t even _like_ Oreos.”

“Captain Simmons?”

“Please.” He sighs. “Don’t. Please, just... _don’t._ Just Simmons. I’m not fit to be anyone’s Captain. I never was.”

She wants to argue, to protest, to explain. Had he and the rest of the Reds and Blues, not shown up on Chorus, she knows that she would be dead. That Falguni and Bitters and all the rest of them would be dead. In the weeks, days before their arrival, morale had dropped off the radar. They were sloppy in the field. Missions were counted a success based on how many came back alive, not on its inherent success or failure. The Captains had changed that for them. They had brought them back from the edges of despair, given them hope, renewed their will to fight. It is no small thing to explain to someone, and she knows that she’ll never be able to accomplish in this moment.

Katie finds the word _brother_ is not so difficult anymore. When he hands her the repair kit he has retrieved from Captain Grif’s belongings, she doesn’t ask questions. She sits beside him, pulls the rivet wrench from the kit, and draws his arm across her lap. Katie can’t explain to him his worth, to both herself, and to the entire army, but she can help him with this. She will help him in every way she is able to until, well...

Just until.

“All of them?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, head turned to the side. “All of them.”

She sets to work, quickly pulling the rivets from his throat and chest, watching the lights in his limb flicker. With all the cold connectors from the shoulder detached, the arm falls heavily against her chest. She sets the rivet wrench to the side, and reaches carefully in the cavity between the man and the mech, to unbolt and twist off the neural synapse connectors. He jerks back as the limb clears his body, as the lights flicker and die.

“Can you?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Katie answers, already gathering up the limb and tools. “I’ll hold onto it until...”

Simmons’ face is still turned away when he collapses back on the bed. “Okay.”

Silence reigns until-

“Bastard didn’t even leave me my heart,” and his remaining hand came up to push against the void.

Katie feels her own heart contract and suddenly she _can’t_ anymore. The wall she has been shoving her despair behind comes crashing down and a dry sob leaves her throat. She’s apologizing to Simmons but it doesn’t matter because he’s passed out, curled up in a grungy knit orange blanket, amid candy wrappers and dirty laundry. She’s out the door, holding onto the arm and tool kit like a life line, and Falguni’s waiting there, pacing back and forth.

She doesn’t remember how they ended up back in their bed, but they do, and for once, the room is empty of any of their squad mates. Their armor is gone and the blankets drawn up tight. Simmons’ arm is wrapped carefully under the bed, and Falguni’s arms are wrapped carefully around Katie and she’s speaking softly into her hair, words, whispers, promises-

“I’m _here_ for you, love. I’m still here.”


End file.
